


The Language of Flowers

by spikesgirl58



Series: Nurse Nellie [10]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 09:33:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3351758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just like any other Valentine's Day for Nellie... until the roses started showing up.  Written for 2015 Valentine's Day Challenge</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Language of Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lindafishes8](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindafishes8/gifts).



There’s just something about Valentine’s Day that’s hard when you are a woman on your own.  I mean, Daddy always gives me a box of chocolates and Mama makes sure I get a card, but it’s not the same.  I watch my co-workers as they are showered with candy and flowers and no one ever seems to notice me.

Most of the time it’s okay.  I know I’m well respected and well regarded by my patients and colleagues.  I’ve been proposed to many times, propositioned even more, but that was the drugs talking.  In real life, Nellie Thompson is a big wipe out, the big Ze-ro, when it comes to romance.

“Hey, Nellie, who’s the lucky fella?”  The question startled me out of my daze and I looked over at one of my co-workers.  Crystal wasn’t mean or nasty as a rule, so her question came as a surprise.

“What are you talking about?”

“Someone left this at the front desk.”  She held out a beautiful yellow rose.  There was a note that said _To Nellie_. 

“Thank you.” I took the rose.  It was perfect and its scent teasingly faint.  “You didn’t need to do that.”

“Do what?”  Crystal looked confused.  “Oh, I didn’t buy it.  I’m serious.  It was just left there.”

“It was probably one of the doctors then.”

“None of the rest of us got one.”  Her tone was a little hurt.

 _No, you have a desk full of candy and flowers already,_ I thought and then chastised myself.  It wasn’t Crystal fault that she has perfect features, a perfect figure and a perfect everything else.  “I could be wrong, of course.”  I smelled the rose again and smiled.  It was the first time I’d ever received a yellow rose.

“A yellow rose means health, friendship and happiness.”  I looked away from my precious gift to the approaching Napoleon.

“Trust you to know that.”  I smiled at him.  Napoleon was sweet and a bit of a scoundrel.  He had just about every woman on a string and it was easy to see why.  He was kind and generous with his compliments.  He would never knowingly hurt any of the women he dated.  He was just a man who couldn’t settled down.  “How are you feeling?”

“I’m well, thank you.”

I looked from my flower to him and back.  “Is this from you?”

“I’m afraid not, dear lady.  I wish it had been.  To see you with that sort of sparkle in your eyes is intoxicating.”

See what I mean about Napoleon and his glib tongue?  “How is your partner?”

“Fine from his last check in.  To be honest, I think he’s a little bored.  Usually there’s been at least one gun battle and possibly an explosion by now.”

“It would be a welcomed change for him to come back to us in one piece.”

“Hey, Nellie!”  Jimmy, one of our orderlies, trotted up to us.  Jimmy never walked if he could help it.  “I found this in the supply closet.”  He held out an orange rose.  “It’s addressed to you.”

“Hmm, orange means enthusiasm and passion.  Nellie, I believe you have a secret admirer.”

“Me?”  I took the second flower, as perfect as the first.  “Who would admire me, secretly or otherwise?”

Napoleon leaned in and kissed my cheek.  “Only any man in his right mind.”

With that he was gone and I was left with my flowers and my confusion.

 

And it didn’t get any better.  It kept going on all day.  By the end of the day, I have eleven perfect roses, each one a different color, in my arms.  I had perfect strangers walking up to me and handing me a flower.  It was enough to make my mind swirl.

I found myself outside the office that Napoleon shared with his partner.  It was no mystery that I was in love with Illya Kuryakin, but I was one of many.  There were so many women ready to take the plunge with him, the numbers practically defied decency.  Yet, for his part, Illya didn’t seem interested and I kept my feelings to myself.  It was just safer for everyone involved, namely me.

The door opened and Napoleon was talking on the phone.  “Yes, that’s right, the table in the alcove at eight.  Champagne and caviar at the ready.  Thank you, Ian.  I owe you.”  He saw me and hung up the phone.  “Delmonico’s, he explained.  “Is there something I can do for you, Nellie?”

“Lucky girl,” I murmured, looking over at Illya’s desk.  It was buried in mail and folders.  “He’s going to need a wrecking ball to get to the bottom of that mess.”

“Illya?  He’ll just use some C-4 and that will be the end of it.”  For a long moment, neither of us spoke.  “Nellie, is there something I can do for you?”

“What?  Yes, here is the list of upcoming medicals for your section.”  I handed him a sheet of paper, knowing that I would be handing it to him at least a dozen more times before I got everyone on that list to comply.  What it was about exams and Section Two agents was beyond me.”

“I’ll do my best.”  He saluted.  “So, how goes the roses?”

I smiled and chanced one more look at Illya’s desk, imagining him there, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled up over those amazing forearms of his.  I wondered what it must feel like to be held in those arms.  “They are wonderful, thank you.  I still think you had something to do with it”

“I am as pure as the driven sleet.” And we both laughed.

 

Napoleon was nice enough to give me a ride to my apartment, so that I wouldn’t have to navigate the subway with my armful of roses.  When I got home, I found one of my best, to be honest, my only clear vase and carefully arranged them.  After Napoleon’s earlier comment, I’d called a florist, who verified the meaning of the roses’ colors:  Pink indicated gratitude and appreciation.  White was for spiritualty and new starts.  Lavender meant love at first sight.  Yellow with a red edge meant friendship or falling in love and so on.  Every color of rose there was seemed to be in my bouquet, except red.  It was the one color every woman was being showered with today.  Every woman except me.

I set the flowers on my tiny dining room table, right next to the box of chocolate-dipped strawberries Daddy had given me.  At least he tried for something healthy this year.  I picked one up and bit into it, feeling the juices run down my chin.

Cupping my hand beneath it, I ran for the kitchen and grabbed a paper napkin.  I ate the rest of it leaning over the sink.  It was lovely and sweet, just like Daddy, but nothing could pull my mind away from those flowers.

The phone rang and it was Mama wondering how my day went.  She always called at this time.  With a giggle, I plopped down on the couch and told her all about the flowers, my secret admirer and my wonderfully confusing day.

I hung up and stood, stretching.  A nice bubble bath and a good book was just the ticket.  I looked over at the bouquet, wondering if I should take it into the bathroom with me when there was a soft knock on the door.

Frowning, I glanced at my watch.  It was just after seven, almost too late in my world for visitors.  Going to the door, I asked,

“Who is it?”

“Special delivery.”  The voice sounded a little familiar, just enough to make me open the door.

Illya was standing there, a red rose in his outstretched hand.  For a moment I could do nothing more than stare.

“You?  How?  I mean, you’re not here.  You’re on assignment.”

“I was, yes, but that is the nice thing about working for UNCLE.  You never know where you might find yourself next.  Sometimes, if you are very lucky, you find yourself right where you want to be.”  He held the rose to me.  “As for the rest, I had a little help.”

“Napoleon.”  I gestured him in and closed the door behind me.

“Among others.  You are well loved, Nellie, by colleagues and agents alike.  I had many people falling over themselves to help.”  He looked at his watch.  “Now, you need to hurry or we will be late.”

“Late for what?”

“Our table at Del Monaco’s.”

“Napoleon’s going to be there tonight, too.”  The look Illya gave me was both amused and chastising.  “He was making reservations for us?”

“He owes me.”

“But why?”  I gestured to the bouquet.  “Why all of this?”

Illya stepped forward and kissed me then.  “Why not?”

Why not, indeed?

 

 

 


End file.
